Showing posts with label promise. Show all posts
Showing posts with label promise. Show all posts

Thursday, October 31, 2024

Microstory 2269: Until Tomorrow

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3
It’s Kelly, filling in for Nick just for today. He’s fine, but the DPA had to spirit him away. They won’t tell us anything about it for obvious reasons, but they promise that they’ll have him back tonight. Once he returns, he won’t be able to say anything about it—they were clear about that. My guess is that they want him to answer questions in preparation for his meeting with the President next week. We’re worried, but his primary bodyguard went with him. I feel much more comfortable knowing that he’s not alone. Since he doesn’t have a background on this planet, I suppose this is the best way to assess his intentions. Or maybe they do this sort of thing for everyone. I really couldn’t say. Until tomorrow!

Monday, October 9, 2023

Microstory 1991: Bear in the Air

Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image AI software
Director Reese Parsons: I’ve never been on a military airfield before.
Director Lotte Washington: Oh, I thought that Fugitive Services flew out of here.
Reese: Only for international searches. I only ever stayed in country. For that, we sometimes did charter, but usually just domestic.
Lotte: Right. Well, this particular airfield is a bit far, don’t you think?
Reese: That’s what I wanted to say, but I didn’t want to sound ungrateful.
Lotte: You and I are on the same level now, Director Parsons. You don’t have to be so nervous around me anymore.
Reese: It’s not nerves, it’s respect. You’re still senior to me, and still outrank me in every reasonable respect.
Lotte: It’s a little nerves.
Reese: Yeah, but not about this.
Lotte: Ah. Your meeting with the National Commander.
Reese: I...I, it’s just— *looks around to see if anyone is watching* I didn’t vote for him.
Lotte: Neither did I. Those records aren’t public, nor accessible to him.
Reese: I know that, I just keep thinking, what if he can tell?
Lotte: It doesn’t matter. Commander Virtue doesn’t need people to love him. He values efficiency and straightforwardness. He asks you a question, you answer it. Answer it as succinctly as possible. Don’t clarify anything unless he asks for it, and don’t volunteer information unless it’s some kind of emergency.
Reese: Okay, that’s good advice.
Lotte: You still look worried. You think I’m giving you bad advice?
Reese: Ya see, I both hate and love that about you. You’re too perceptive. It’s aggravating. Can you read minds?
Lotte: Only weak minds.
Reese: *can’t help but crack a smile*
Lotte: There he is; the Reese Parsons I’ve come to know. Lighten up. I promise you, relaxing a little bit before the meeting isn’t gonna turn you into a surfer dude in front of him. You’re an authority in your responsibilities. It’s not a quiz. He won’t ask you anything you don’t know, because he knows what kinds of things you know.
Reese: Thank you, Director Washington.
Lotte: You should just call me Lotte now. Even SI Eliot does.
Reese: All right, Lotte. Wadya think? This place is far, but what choice do we have?
Lotte: You tell me. You’re the one who’s gonna be running teams out of here.
Reese: I keep picturing a helicopter taking off from headquarters, and then the agents or troops jumping out of it to land in the plane midair. Driving it during rush hour is gonna be a nightmare. Of course, we would need to build a helicopter pad anyway.
Lotte: That could be done, but midair transfers are probably a no-go.
Reese: I know. *laughing*
Lotte: There’s one more option, but it’s pretty unorthodox too.
Reese: What were you thinking?
Lotte: Well...the river is a lot closer to your headquarters than this place is.

Friday, October 6, 2023

Microstory 1990: True to One’s Word

Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image AI software
Freeman 1: Hey, thanks for meeting me, man.
Reese: Yeah, no problem. It’s been a long time. What’s up?
Freeman 1: Well, this is sort of awkward.
Reese: Go ahead, dude. No judgments.
Freeman 1: Well, it’s just that...a few months ago, you became bonded to our group of freemen, and that was great. I mean, we don’t regret it. But since then, you haven’t really, ya know, fulfilled your obligations, you know? Like, we helped you find that escapee, and then you and Myka just disappeared. You changed your number?
Reese: Yeah, it was this legal thing. We’ve all kind of had to leave our old lives behind. I’m really sorry, though; that wasn’t cool.
Freeman 1: What exactly have you been up to? A few of the other freewomen are gone too, but they’re not dead; they still see their families. Honestly, we are all kind of worried about you, but you don’t look dead either.
Reese: You’re right, I screwed up. Uhh...I can’t tell you what we’ve been doing. We got in trouble with the government, so we’re working on that.
Freeman 1: You look free to me.
Reese: Different kind of trouble. Mixed up with them is probably a better way to put it.
Freeman 1: I see.
Reese: But I’m here now. Let’s bump phones so you can have my new number. Do you need anything today?
Freeman 1: *scratching the back of his neck* Actually we do. Well, I do.
Reese: Remember, I can’t do anything illegal for ya. Though, I think I may be able to skirt the rules for you now. I’m kind of in a better position than I was before. It’s all really complicated and weird.
Freeman 1: I’m glad to hear you say that, because it’s definitely on the outskirts.
Reese: Just ask, friend.
Freeman 1: I’m trying to buy a house. I...I got a girl pregnant, and I have to provide for them. The only job I could get pays pretty well, but it’s all under the table. That makes applying for a loan pretty difficult. I would get a different job, but no one wants to hire an ex-con, especially one who was locked up for aggravated assault and armed robbery. Big surprise, I know. I have a connection at the bank, but even he won’t just give me the loan outright. *pauses again*
Reese: What does he need?
Freeman 1: Look, I don’t know what you’re doing, but by mixed up with the government, it’s pretty clear you’re saying that you’re employed by them, in some different capacity than before. You don’t have to tell me what it is, but it would really help me out if you could pose as my employer. Just say I bring you coffee or dry-cleaning, that would be enough. It just has to be from a reputable company. I dunno, is this even possible?
Reese: What do you do for a living? Are you fulfilled? Are you being exploited?
Freeman 1: Courier work. No. And probably.
Reese: Let me make a call. Let’s not fake a job. Let’s get you a real one.

Wednesday, September 29, 2021

Microstory 1723: Pair of Compasses

Pamela. You are my compass. When you found me, I was nothing. I was going nowhere in my life. My father, may his soul rest in peace, did everything he could to point me in the right direction, but when I lost him, I lost myself. Instead of honoring his memory, I continued on a pointless path, and made nothing of myself. Then you came along; my light in the dense forest. You showed me that it wasn’t too late, and that there was still hope for me. I will forever be grateful for where we have gone together, and how far we’ve come. Now, I know that I strayed from the path a little, and for that, I will forever be ashamed. But you forgave me my transgressions, and that just proves how perfect we are as a team. You knew that, even then—even after all I did—with my ex...and her ex, and your sister...and your sister’s ex—you knew—you knew that I was still redeemable. I will never be able to make up for what I did, but I believe together, we can walk towards a beautiful future. I will no longer attempt to walk alone, or find my own way. I will surrender to your wisdom. Your needle always points North, and knowing that, we can make our way to any way that we wish. Um. I think this metaphor is getting to be a little too much. Just give me a second. Notecards, I know, but...just hold on. (Let’s see, don’t want to bring this up—I’ve rethought this whole part of the  speech—my brother said that was an inappropriate—hold for laught—oh, never mind). Okay. Pamela. Poetry aside, I would just like to promise you that I have successfully changed my ways. You changed me, and you won’t have to worry about me ever again. As long as you’re by my side, I’m certain that we can get through anything. I vow to be faithful and fearless, interesting and inspiring, mesmerizing and motivating, and successful and satisfying. I can’t wait to begin the next leg of our journey together. Thank you.

Chaz. I think you’re right, I’m a compass. But you are a compass as well. You could even say that we are a pair of compasses. I don’t mean that we’re just two mariner’s compasses. We are the drafting instrument that architects and engineers use to make their designs accurate. I don’t mean to say that we are building something great, or that our home is perfect. The truth is that nothing has been remotely perfect about our lives together. Yes, you cheated on me, and I’m not sure why we needed a rundown of your offenses. Well...I think we all know that those were only about half of your offenses, and that it only includes the ones I actually know about. Who knows how many more there are? Which children here today are yours? Do we even know? I joke, I joke. You’re right, I forgave you for what you did. And that brings us back to my metaphor. (I admit, I took a peek at your vows, which is why I’m prepared to say what I’m saying now). When I took you back, my friends pointed out what we mean to each other, and what our potential is. I didn’t listen to them, but now I know that we truly are a pair of compasses. You see, the compass drawing tool involves two legs. One is steady. It stays in place, while the other makes the drawing. You are the steady leg. You plant yourself in one spot, and I revolve around you. That is our pattern. All we do is make circles. Sure, we can make smaller circles, and sometimes even larger ones, but we can never escape the pattern. We just go ‘round, and around, and around. The only way to break the cycle is for me to break the compass, and set myself free. So I’m leaving you, Chaz. You can sleep with whomever it is you want. It’s not my problem anymore. Goodbye.